Never Too Late
by Carey-M6
Summary: When Lestrade shows John an old video of Sherlock, John realizes he knows nothing of Sherlock's past. As he learns, he isn't sure he wants to anymore. Rated for drug use, dub-con, abuse/child abuse, self-harm, and other themes in further chapters.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

John and Sherlock were at a crime scene when John found it. Lestrade had called him over so they could go out for drinks after the case.

So, when everything was wrapped up, John got in the car with Lestrade.

"Hey, Greg. I thought we were going to the pub?" John asked as he saw they were pulling into Scotland Yard.

"Yeah, we can do that later; I want to show you something."

When they got to Lestrade's office, Lestrade smirked when he saw Sally\ and Anderson were in the room with a DVD player.

"…Um, what's this then?"

"I was searching through some things that Sherlock left at my flat and I found this," Lestrade said, holding up a disc in a see-through case with a sharpie-scrawled title 'Do Not Watch.'

"When was Sherlock at your flat?" John asked.

"Oh, ages ago; when I first met him he was high as a kite and so I let him kip on the couch for a night. Unfortunately, one night eventually became a week; then he was gone. His stuff was still there, so I left it for, like, a month or something but he never showed, so I binned some of it and I just sorta stuffed the rest under the couch." Lestrade took a breath. "Which brings us to today, when I decided to clean up my flat."

John nodded minutely and asked, "So what's the disc?"

"Oh, that," Lestrade turned around and grabbed it off the table beside where Sally and Anderson were plugging things in to watch the disc, "is a video somebody—I don't know who—took of a concert. Some unknown band. Really good, but I've heard they only used their money for coke. Anyway, you need to watch it; and look at the lead guitarist."

"Couldn't you've used a laptop?" John asked. Lestrade didn't reply, but simply started then video.

John watched as the screen became less fuzzy as the camera stilled. A boy walked on the stage in the video and began saying, "So, hey. We don't really have a band name, but I 'ope you like the music." The boy had a slight cockney accent. He was average height, had light brown hair, just long enough to be over the tops of his eyes. His build was similar to that of a rugby player. He had no piercings; not like the others on stage.

John's eye caught movement on the right side if the screen. Realizing it was the lead guitarist, he paid close attention.

Oh.

_Oh…_

It was _Sherlock._


	2. Chapter 2

**It's All Over**

Sherlock looked over to where David was telling the crowd they didn't have a name. The only reason he was in this stupid band was because he was promised cocaine for his efforts; which were a lot considering he wrote the lyrics to almost all the songs. Unfortunately, that meant David expected him to sing as well.

As he stood there holding the black guitar, he thought about the rush he was anticipating.

The first time he had tried cocaine he was only 16. Now he was 18. It seemed like such a short time to him; it was not like anything has happened to him over the past two years. He smiled slightly at the fact that Mycroft was yet to find him. But his smile vanished as he realised that Mycroft wasn't even looking for him anymore. It wasn't like he cared, but every child deserves to be loved at least a little; by anyone if not their parents.

Sherlock shook his head, scattering those thoughts, as he saw that David was counting them in. Sherlock forgot the song they were doing first, so started playing and decided not to care if it was the right one or not.

After the guitar intro, Sherlock began singing.

_"Your bottle's almost empty,  
you know this can't go on.  
Because of you my mind is always racing.  
The needle breaks in your skin,  
the story's sinking in,  
and now you trip begins 'cause it's all over for, it's all over for_

_"You  
For you  
When you're on the edge and falling off,  
it's all over._

_"I know what runs through your blood,  
you do this all in vain.  
Because if you my mind is always racing.  
And it gets under my skin,  
to see you giving in,  
and now you trip begins 'cause it's all over for, it's all over for_

_"You  
For you  
When you're on the edge and falling off,  
it's all over for you  
for you  
when you're on the edge and falling off it's all over for_

_"And now you're dead inside,  
still you wonder why  
you're on the edge and falling off it's all over for_

_"You, for you.  
It's all over for you."_

As Sherlock finished the song, the audience began clapping. To Sherlock, music of this genre was obnoxious and brain-damaging. He preferred classical. His mother had made him learn violin starting at age five. And although Sherlock wanted to be childish and spite his mummy, he quickly fell in love with his instrument.

Not like Mycroft, who couldn't play (because his fingers were too fat for the keys, Sherlock had summarised.)


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

"S'a good song," Lestrade said as the song from the player finished. John nodded absently; he was entranced by the singer/guitarist. His hair was just long enough to be considered shaggy, he was obviously far too skinny for his height, his cheekbones looked as if they could sliced through the thin skin of his pale face, and when he looked up, John almost flinched at his eyes. Blue and silver swirling in a storm of sadness; an underlying tone of anger, and hurt. The plain black t-shirt he wore hung loosely on his lanky frame, emphasising his slim torso. One thing that John also noticed was that he looked utterly bored. _Definitely Sherlock,_ John thought.

The bassist started talking about who wrote the lyrics. "All but one of these songs is written by our lead guitarist, SH!"

As Sherlock looked up from his staring contest with the floor, he saw someone, who he approached and then returned to the stage with a lit cigarette. As the next song started with the bassist singing, Sherlock dropped the fag and began playing guitar again, soon joining in singing.

_Pain,  
without love.  
Pain,  
Can't get enough.  
Pain,  
I like it rough,  
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all._

Sherlock was the only one singing during the parts not the chorus.

_You're sick,  
of feelin' numb,  
You're not  
the only one.  
I'll take  
you by the hand  
and I'll show you world that you can understand.  
This life,  
is filled with hurt  
when happiness,  
doesn't work.  
Trust me,  
and take my hand.  
When the lights go out,  
you'll understand._

As the chorus started up again, Sherlock was playing the guitar more enthusiastically.

_Pain,  
without love.  
Pain,  
Can't get enough.  
Pain,  
I like it rough,  
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all.  
Pain,  
without love.  
Pain,  
Can't get enough.  
Pain,  
I like it rough,  
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all._

Sherlock's hair was bouncing as he jumped slightly with the music. John thought about the lyrics, and the fact that Sherlock wrote them. It was really sad to see all the hurt that he had gone through. _I can't even imagine what he must've been like when he was alone, _John thought.

_Anger  
and agony  
are better  
than misery.  
Trust me  
I've got a plan  
When the lights go out,  
you'll understand._

There were more lyrics that John absentmindedly tuned out as he watched a single tear form in Sherlock's eye. John's heart broke a little at the fact that Sherlock probably meant every word he sang. He felt that pain was better. He just wanted to feel; and pain was the only way to do that.

_Pain,  
without love.  
Pain,  
Can't get enough.  
Pain,  
I like it rough,  
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all._

_I'd rather feel  
PAIN._

* * *

_Author's Note's:_

_So here is another chapter. I would like to thank all the viewers that... view and I would like to thank you because every time I see my view count go up, I do a little happy dance in my brain. _

_So, yes I would like to thank you for all the support you guys give me._

_Also, if you have any feedback on anything, including my British, please feel free to let me know. And again, thank you._


	4. Chapter 4

**Animal I Have Become**

As David set things up for the next song, Sherlock thought about the day he left.

It was not a day he liked to remember, but occasionally his mind wound wander. Maybe if he could just delete it.

He thought back to his parents faces when he was about to walk out the door. He was prepared to see regret, or a bit of sadness; he saw blank, carefully constructed faces. His father was _smirking_. Glad his disappointment of a son was finally leaving. Sherlock had walked out the door, and didn't look back.

He was shaken out of his thoughts by a low bass, strumming in a deep, slow beat. He came in on the guitar, and sang.

_I can't escape this hell  
So many times I've tried  
But I'm still caged inside. _

_Somebody get me through this nightmare  
I can't control myself._

_So what if you can see  
the darkest side of me?  
No one will ever change this animal I have become._

_I can't escape myself  
So many times I've lied  
But there's still rage inside._

_Somebody get me through this nightmare  
I can't control myself._

_So what if you can see  
the darkest side of me?  
No one will ever change this animal I have become_

_Somebody get me through this nightmare  
I can't control myself.  
Somebody wake me from this nightmare  
I can't escape this hell_

_So what if you can see  
the darkest side of me?  
No one will ever change this animal I have become_

_So what if you can see  
the darkest side of me?  
No one will ever change this animal I have become_

_No one will ever change this animal._

Sherlock took a deep breath. Christ, he really needed a hit. Just a small one. Just enough for him to get through this performance. He was noticing so many things. Too many things. _Why is that girl even trying to hide that she is uncomfortable? Being polite? No, people are not polite. Why is that guy getting a drink? What did the bartender give him? Why? Why not?_ Too many questions running through his head. Sherlock ran off the stage, leaving his guitar behind.

When Sherlock slowed down, he could see David running after him. David stopped running and sat down next to where Sherlock was standing.

"So," David started. "What's oll this about, then, eh? Got yourself stage fright? Don't 'orry about it. You're doing good."

_Well,_ Sherlock mind corrected. "I'm not stage frightened. I need a hit before I go insane."

David laughed. "Well you're far past insanity, mate. Going bonkers like the rest of us," he said, and smiled.

"No!" Sherlock shouted. "It's like people make it their life goal to irritate me with their stupidity. I am not going insane, I am not going _bonkers_, and I am not going to sing any more bloody songs!" Sherlock huffed. "Where is Sam? I'm taking my bit then leaving."

"Hey, wait! Look, if I can get you a small hit right now, will it calm you enough to stay?" David asked hopefully.

Sherlock sighed but nodded minutely. "Hey," David began. "you know, one thing I don't get abou' you, is that you calm down whenever you use. And, I mean you're using coke, so it shouldn't do that, right? Like, I'm not sure, cause I only use pot, but…"

Sherlock sighed. "My brain, without cocaine, is a dangerous weapon. I see things, I notice things, things that people don't want me to know. I haven't the faintest idea why; wouldn't you want to know if your girlfriend was cheating on you? Don't answer that.

"Now, with cocaine, I can use my mind and knowledge for things that matter, like science. I can hold my tongue and keep from getting beat up. The chemicals are devastatingly simple, but you wouldn't understand; then again nobody would.

"That answer your question?"

David just nodded.

* * *

_Author's notes:_

_Hello, and welcome to chapter four!_

_Please send me lots of virtual carrots for my plot bunny. (It's name is Bluebell) _


	5. Chapter 5

**On My Own**

John was shocked when he saw Sherlock run off the stage. After four minutes, him and the bassist came back on stage. Oh no; Sherlock's eyes were glazed over, he was smiling slightly, his sharp cheekbones tinged pink. He was high. John heard Lestrade sigh.

Then, the bass started another low beat, joined by guitar. When Sherlock started singing, John was surprised at the slow pace of the song.

_I walk alone  
Think of home  
Memories of long ago  
No one knows  
I lost  
My soul long ago_

_Lied too much  
He said that he's had enough  
Am I too much?  
He said that he's had enough_

_Standing on my own  
Remembering the one I left at home  
Forget about the life I used to know  
Forget about the one I left at home_

_I need to run far away  
Can't go back to that place  
Like he told me I'm,  
Just a big disgrace_

_Lied too much  
He said that he's had enough  
Am I too much?  
He said that he's had enough_

_Standing on my own  
Remembering the one I left at home  
Forget about the life I used to know  
Forget about the one I left at home_

_So now I'm  
standing here alone  
Learning how to live life on my own_

_Lied too much  
I think that I've had enough  
Am I too much?  
He said that he's had enough_

_I'm Standing on my own  
Remembering the one I left at home  
Forget about the life I used to know  
Forget about the one I left at home_

_So now I'm  
standing here alone  
I'm Learning how to live life on my own_

_Forget about the past I'll never know  
Forget about the one I left at home._

_Author's Notes:_

_By the way, 'he' was originally she, but I changed it to he. Also, 'he' is Mycroft, Sherlock's brother._


	6. Chapter 6

Get Out Alive

After the hit, Sherlock had felt a bit better. He wasn't allowed a full hit, but what he had, had helped a bit. After the next song, he very nearly collapsed; he was not going to make it. These songs were about Mycroft; the fat git. Sherlock knew that once Mycroft confirmed Sherlock's absence, he would stop looking for him. But Sherlock didn't care; he had stopped caring long ago. Sentiment was a chemical defect found on the losing side.

Without a sufficient hit, Sherlock ached for something; anything to stop the numbness. At home he could always get a blade or knife. He would shiver as the cool metal touched his skin, then it warmed and became blisteringly hot where he just cut. When the blade came up, covered in the crimson liquid, he would stare at it as it dried slowly, wondering what he could do to see his fathers' blood do the same.

Again, the bass is what shook him out of his thoughts.

_No time for goodbye  
He said  
As he faded away.  
Don't put your life in  
Someone's hands  
They're bound to steal it away.  
Don't hide  
Your mistakes  
'Cause they'll find you  
Burn you  
And he said_

_If you wanna get out alive  
Oh, oh, run for your life  
If you wanna get out alive  
Oh, oh, run for your life_

_This is my last night  
She said  
As she faded away.  
It's hard to imagine  
But one you'll end up like me  
then she said_

_If you wanna get out alive  
Oh, oh, run for your life__  
__If you wanna get out alive  
Oh, oh, run for your life_

_If you wanna get out alive  
Oh, oh, run for your life__  
__If you wanna get out alive  
Oh, oh, run for your life_

_If I stay  
I won't be long  
'Til I'm burning on the inside.  
If I go  
I can only hope  
That I'll make it to the other side._

_If you wanna get out alive  
Oh, oh, run for your life__  
__If you wanna get out alive  
Oh, oh, run for your life_

_If I stay  
I won't be long  
'Til I'm burning on the inside.  
If I go  
I can only hope  
That I'll make it to the other side._

_If you wanna get out alive  
Oh, oh, run for your life__  
__If you wanna get out alive  
Oh, oh, run for your life_

_If I stay  
I won't be long  
'Til I'm burning on the inside.  
If I go  
If I go  
Burning on the inside.  
Burning on the inside.  
Burning on the inside._

He finished the song with a flourish of his hand and took a slight bow. Sherlock would so love to tell Mycroft how much pain he had caused; but he would just make him come back.


	7. Chapter 7

Gone Forever

John had a bad feeling that that song was likely about someone who had told Sherlock that he had to run away from the pain. Well look where that got him; doing coke and too far from home. John wondered if that Sherlock ever got homesick. But, whatever was at his home had obviously driven him away. How could Mycroft not have found him?

John was snapped out of his thoughts by a voice. Sherlock's voice. It came through rather crackly.

"I usually don't dedicate my songs but, this one is for my dear _brother_." He said the word as if it were a foul insult.

_Don't know what's going on  
Don't know what went wrong  
Feels like a hundred years I  
Still can't believe you're gone  
So I'll stay up all night  
With these blood-shot eyes  
While these walls surround me  
With the story of our life_

During the short pause, John thought back to what Sherlock said. His brother. The song made it sound like he misses Mycroft. John found that that wasn't true when he heard the next lyrics.

_I feel so  
Much better  
Now that you're gone forever  
I tell myself  
That I don't miss you at all  
I'm not lying  
Denying  
That I feel so much better  
Now  
That you're gone forever_

During the next pause, John turned slightly to look at Lestrade, who was standing there with his head in one hand, and his other on his hip.

_Now things are coming clear  
That I don't need you here  
And in this world around me  
I'm glad you disappeared  
So I'll stay out all night  
Get drunk and fucking fight  
Until the morning comes I'll  
Forget about our life_

_I feel so  
Much better  
Now that you're gone forever  
I tell myself  
That I don't miss you at all  
I'm not lying  
Denying  
That I feel so much better  
Now  
That you're gone forever_

_First time you screamed at me  
I should have made you leave  
I should have known it could be so much better  
I hope you're missing me  
I hope I've made you see  
That I'm gone forever_

_And now things are coming clear  
That I don't need you here  
And in this world around me  
I'm glad you disappeared  
_

_I feel so  
Much better  
Now that you're gone forever  
I tell myself  
That I don't miss you at all  
I'm not lying  
Denying  
That I feel so much better  
Now  
That you're gone forever  
And now you're gone forever  
And now you're gone forever_

When John looked back at Lestrade, he was no longer sure how much of Sherlock's past Lestrade actually knew. John paused the video.

"Hey, Lestrade. How much… when… did you know about this?" John asked softly.

Lestrade was not as calm. "No, of course I didn't. You know him; you think he'd tell me anything?" Lestrade took a breath and started again, quieter. "All I knew was that he had run away from his home when he was 17. I knew he started coke when he was 16. I knew that," he faltered. "I knew… that his parents… they weren't the most caring; or forgiving. I had talked with the maid of the Holmes manor. She had said that… She told me about the punishments Sherlock would get for doing almost nothing wrong. He would have to stand in a corner for hours, or was locked up in his room for days without food, and one time, when his father found Sherlock's cigarettes, he made Sherlock smoke all of them in a row. Instead of punishment, it only kick-started his nicotine addiction."

"So," John started. "Where was Mycroft during all this?"

"School. But that isn't to say he didn't know; he did, but he didn't do anything about it. I did feel a bit bad for him though; sometimes their father made Mycroft administer the punishment. His father made him do the physical ones, though. And apparently it wasn't a slap or anything, it was punches and kicks and beatings so hard the maid had to take Sherlock to the A&E."

"What about his mum?" John asked, remembering that one comment from the night he met Sherlock._ I upset her? Me? It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft. _

"She wasn't well," Lestrade said.

"How long did this go on for?"

Lestrade let out a shaky breath. "Well, the maid had only worked there for six years, but she said it was obviously going on before then. Sherlock was seven when she got there."

"Jesus," John breathed

"Yeah…" Lestrade agreed, then started the video.


	8. Chapter 8

Running Away

Sherlock felt sad about Mycroft. He was glad that he's gone, but Mycroft was the only one who ever understood Sherlock. Sometimes, for whatever reason, Sherlock felt so guilty that he thinks about going back and apologising to his parents for being a stubborn child and running away. It was times like this when he would wake up in a dark alley, broken, damaged, and hurting so badly that he wanted it all to end.

He felt so numb, the darkness inside of himself making its way to his skin, tingling, begging its way out. He couldn't stand it. He had to quell the numbness. The emptiness, darkness, the feeling of feeling noting so strongly that it feels like his insides were literally replaced with nothing. So dark; so empty; and it couldn't stop.

In a dark alley, with no recollection of where he was, he would reach his arm out to search for a glass shard. He would roll up his sleeve, and while he loathed the dirty blade, he would drag it across his forearm, slowly, while he bled out the numbness.

Now, as he stood on the stage, once again, he thought back to his last Christmas with his family.

"_Why are you out of your room?" His father's voice was calm, but his face was angry._

_With a quiet voice, Sherlock said, "I've been in there for five days, and I am hungry."_

_His father shook his head. "Well whose fault is that? If you weren't such a freakish brat, I wouldn't have to punish you; you make me do this to you." He punched Sherlock in the face, then took a breath. "But now you're out of your room, and you need punishment. Mycroft!"_

_Mycroft walked into the room and stared at Sherlock with clear disgust on his face. "Yes father?" he asked pleasantly. _

"_Take Sherlock to his room and administer his punishment." Mycroft nodded and took the hand of his little brother to lead him to his room, passing one of the maids on the way._

_Once there, Mycroft didn't wait; he struck Sherlock across the face. _

"_Ah!" Sherlock yelped. Without hesitation, Mycroft punched him once in the face, and kicked him twice in the stomach, in quick succession. Sherlock was now on the ground, groaning in pain. _

"_My… Please don't," he whispered. _

"_I am sorry, little brother. You must behave yourself, and then father will not punish you," _

_Sherlock whimpered as his broth beat him._

_After the beating, Sherlock found a razor. He experimentally slid the dull edge of it across his palm, reveling in the cold feeling of it. He spun it around so that the sharp edge was facing his wrist. __He__ held it a few inches above his arm, __holding__ it in the air before he lowered the cold metal square and deliberately sliced his skin. He let out a shaky breath and dropped the razor, mesmerized by the blood that beaded up on the line he drew._

_Sherlock bent down to retrieve the razor; standing up and running it under the tap water. He slid it against his wrist again and again. It was almost his way of proving to himself that he could feel, contrary to popular belief; even if it was just pain he was proving he could feel. And the pain of being left alone. He looked over at the clock as it chimed 12 o'clock._

"_Happy Christmas to me." he murmured, cutting one last line across his wrist._

Again, the strumming of the bass woke him from his thoughts. He started to sing.

_I'm thinking to myself  
That I've done something wrong  
That I've crossed the line  
Have you found out this time__  
What led you to believe__  
It's only you and me__  
Do you see it in my eyes__  
Have you found out this time_

You see right through me_  
Cause you're running away__  
You keep turning your back on me__  
I tried so hard__  
But you're running away__  
Please don't turn your back on me_

I'm drinking by myself_  
And oh, I'm going down__  
But will you pick me up__  
Will you leave me on the ground__  
I led you to believe__  
It's only you and me__  
I can see it in your eyes__  
That you found out this time_

You see right through me_  
Cause you're running away__  
You keep turning your back on me__  
I tried so hard__  
But you're running away__  
Please don't turn your back on me_

Don't just turn and walk away_  
I can learn from my mistakes__  
Don't throw everything away_

You see right through me_  
Cause you're running away__  
You keep turning your back on me__  
I tried so hard__  
But you're running away  
But you're running away___

You see right through me_  
Cause you're running away__  
You keep turning your back on me__  
I tried so hard__  
But you're running away__  
Please don't turn your back on me  
_

As Sherlock finished the song, he thought to himself, _only one more song._


	9. Chapter 9

Bully

There was no pause between songs this time; straight to the next song.

_He wakes up haunted  
With voices in his head  
Nobody know it  
But today he won't go unnoticed  
He can't forget  
Can't forgive for what they said  
He's never been so hurt  
But today the screaming is over._

"Lestrade, he was bullied quite a lot, wasn't he? I mean, today people are rude… I can't imagine what it was like for him as a kid," John said.

"Must've been. S'not like he knows when to shut up now, so… probably."

_Blame the family  
Blame the bully  
Blame it on me  
Maybe he needed  
To be wanted.  
Blame the family  
Blame the bully  
Maybe he needed  
To be wanted._

John's heart broke a little at that. _Maybe, _John thought_, he felt like he wasn't wanted… _Even John's subconscious had a sad tone to it.

_He takes the long way home  
Fighting his emotions  
He's a loner  
But today he won't go unnoticed  
If he can't remember  
When he loses his temper  
Nobody knows him  
But today the silence is over._

_Blame the family  
Blame the bully  
Blame it on me  
Maybe he needed  
To be wanted.  
Blame the family  
Blame the bully  
Maybe he needed  
To be wanted._

_Blame the family  
Blame the bully  
Blame it on me  
Maybe he needed_

_Blame the family  
Blame the bully  
Blame it on me  
Maybe he needed  
To be wanted.  
Blame the family  
Blame the bully  
Maybe he needed  
To be wanted._

_Wanted._

"Lestrade… how could he think so many people don't like him?" John asked hesitantly.

Lestrade sighed, "Look, John… That many people _did _hate him. Before you came, you have no idea how bad he was probably hurting. And I know tat no one believes in him. When I first met Sherlock, his creepy brother warned me to stay away if I ever wanted to make it to Detective Inspector."

"Yeah, when Mycroft kidnapped me, I asked who he was, that he probably wasn't Sherlock's friend. He laughed as if the thought had never crossed his mind. He said, and I quote, 'You've met him, how many friends do you imagine he has?'"

Lestrade shook his head. "Yeah, I got the same sort of message." Pause. "John, did you know that Sherlock committed suicide?"

John looked at him sharply. "Well he's alive, so he didn't actually commit it."

Lestrade took a breath. "No, John. He did. When he was staying at my house, I thought he was getting better. I came home once and he was…" Lestrade closed his eyes. "He wasn't breathing, his heart wasn't beating. I didn't know how long he had been like that. I called 999 and they were able to save him. He overdosed."

"Well… how do you know that it wasn't an accident?" John asked.

"He was very meticulous about his measurements. Never even a gram off. And when he woke up he…he asked me why, why I didn't let him die. And I… couldn't answer him. I didn't even realize how sad he was. And he didn't speak to me much after that. Or at all, really… And how do you think I felt? I thought it was my fault for- for not saving him," Lestrade said.

The speaker crackled, "Alrigh' thank you for comin'. We have one more song! I wrote it, and it's for our guitarist, SH."

Video Sherlock's head snapped up. "What?" he asked.


	10. Chapter 10

Never Too Late

"What?" Sherlock walked over to David. "What are you doing?"

"Just play the sheet music I gave you last week," David said, and started playing his bass, cutting Sherlock off. Sherlock huffed, but played the sheet music he'd memorized last week.

David had a slightly higher voice than Sherlock, so when he started, it was weird to hear his voice alone.

_This world will never be  
What I expected  
And if I don't belong  
Who would have guessed it  
I will not leave alone  
Everything that I own  
To make you feel like it's not too late  
It's never too late_

David was looking right at Sherlock.

_Even if I say  
It'll be alright  
Still I hear you say  
You want to end your life  
Now and again we try  
To just stay alive  
Maybe we'll turn it around  
'Cause it's not too late  
It's never too late_

_No one will ever see  
The side reflected  
And if there's something wrong  
Who would have guessed it  
And if I have left alone  
Everything that I own  
To make you feel like  
It's not too late  
It's never too late_

_Even if I say  
It'll be alright  
Still I hear you say  
You want to end your life  
Now and again we try  
To just stay alive  
Maybe we'll turn it around  
'Cause it's not too late  
It's never too late_

_The world we knew  
Won't come back  
The time we've lost  
Can't get back  
The life we had  
Won't be ours again_

_This world will never be  
What I expected  
And if I don't belong_

_Even if I say  
It'll be alright  
Still I hear you say  
You want to end your life  
Now and again we try  
To just stay alive  
Maybe we'll turn it around  
'Cause it's not too late  
It's never too late  
Maybe we'll turn it around  
'Cause it's not too late  
It's never too late_

The whole time the sing was going, David was directing his attention to Sherlock.

In the past, Sherlock had thought about taking his life, but why would he do something so pedestrian? It wasn't as if he had to be at his house anymore; and he could get money from this stupid band so he could pay for his cigarettes and cocaine. Life was fine now. No reason to end it.

Sherlock was staring off into space when he registered that David was talking to him.

"Hey, you alright, mate?"

Sherlock just nodded. Suddenly, he felt very tired; like the world was just going to swallow him up at any moment. Probably needed a hit. Well he could do that now.

"David, give me my money," he snapped, just before he fell over, darkness consuming him.


	11. Chapter 11

Never Too Late Chapter 11 Chalk Outline

At the moment the video Sherlock ran off-stage, real Sherlock burst through the doors of Lestrade's office.

"Lestrade, Anderson is-," he began, and then his eyes widened at the screen. "What is that?" he asked quietly.

Lestrade sighed, then said, "Sherlock you left some stuff at my house and I was curious as to what it was and then I showed John but I didn't mean to watch it all and I'm sorry I know I shouldn't've done that and—"

"Lestrade you're rambling. And I haven't been to your house since…" Sherlock trailed off.

"Yeah I know," Lestrade replied.

There was an awkward silence before Sherlock asked, "So what is it? Obviously it's mine and you snooped so I have a right to know."

Lestrade took a breath. "Okay, yeah. Well, um it's a video of a band performing and I, _we_ watched because the guitarist looked like… he looked like you and his name in the video was SH and… I'm sorry, Sherlock."

Sherlock was too busy glaring at the floor to notice John walking towards him. When he laid a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, it made Sherlock jump. "Sherlock, let's go home, okay?" John asked. Sherlock just nodded absently.

John cursed silently; it was never good when Sherlock lost focus. Damn, he was probably thinking about it, and having emotions. Anyone who knows Sherlock would know that he and emotions were not the best of pals.

The two of them walked out of Scotland Yard and hailed a cab. John sent off a text to Lestrade and Mycroft as he got in the cab.

_Warning, it may be a danger night. JW_

Mycroft's reply was instant.

_Do watch him, won't you? MH_

John didn't respond to that; of course he was going to watch him. Lestrade didn't reply but John was pretty sure he knew anyway.

Soon they arrived at Baker St. and Sherlock went straight in the direction of his room.

"No, Sherlock I need to talk to you," John said.

Sherlock stopped in front of his door, with his hand on the handle. When it was clear he wasn't going to respond, John kept talking.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry I invaded your privacy like that. Will you please talk to me? It seems like you have a lot of things in your past that I've never known about."

Sherlock's grip tightened, but he said nothing.

John walked to Sherlock and set his own smaller hand on Sherlock's. He took Sherlock's hand in his own and walked to the sitting room, Sherlock following. They sat on the couch, still holding hands.

"Sherlock, please talk to me."

Sherlock's eyebrows drew together. "It doesn't even matter now."

Silence.

"Just out of curiosity, did you write any songs after you quit?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes but… they're not for anything. Just, memories on paper so I can make room in my mind palace."

"Do you think, maybe in the future, you'd trust me enough to see them?" John asked pensively.

Sherlock's head snapped up and his hand tightened around John's. "John I trust you with everything; my life, my work, I… I died for you, John. I don't trust anyone the way I trust you."

John's eyes watered a bit; they hadn't really talked about his return. John had punched him first, but then hugged him and Sherlock had hugged back; he had missed John so much.

"I can show you the songs now if you like," Sherlock said quietly.

"Are you sure?"

Sherlock looked at him.

"Right, sorry. Sure."

They walked into Sherlock's room, where Sherlock opened a small box with several papers in it. The top one was labeled 'Chalk Outline'.

"Do you mind if I…?"

"Of course," Sherlock responded.

When John took the paper, he tried to get a tune for the lyrics, but gave up and just read the words. But Sherlock could see his struggle and asked, "If… if you wanted I could sing it for you, to help with your understanding of it."

John was about to refuse, but he did want to hear Sherlock sing. Apparently Sherlock knew that because he took the page and sang in a deep voice that contrasted to the higher one in the video.

"_I've been cursed  
I've been crossed  
I've been beaten by the ones that get me off_

"_I've been cut  
I've been opened up  
I've been shattered by the ones I thought I loved_

"_You left me here like a chalk outline  
On the sidewalk waiting for the rain to wash away  
Wash away  
You keep coming back to the scene of the crime  
But the dead can't speak and there's nothing left to say anyway_

"_All you left behind  
Is a chalk outline_

"_I've been cold  
In the crypt  
But not as cold as the words across your lips_

"_You'll be sorry baby  
Someday  
When you reach across the bed where my body used to lay_

"_You left me here like a chalk outline  
On the sidewalk waiting for the rain to wash away  
Wash away  
You keep coming back to the scene of the crime  
But the dead can't speak and there's nothing left to say anyway_

"_All you left behind  
Is a chalk outline  
All you left behind  
Is a chalk outline  
All you left behind  
Is a chalk outline_

"_You left me here like a chalk outline  
On the sidewalk waiting for the rain to wash away  
Wash away  
You keep coming back to the scene of the crime  
But the dead can't speak and there's nothing left to say anyway_

"_All you left behind  
Is a chalk outline"_

Sherlock's voice was beautiful; John was awed. "Wow Sherlock that was, just great, really. I just, who was this song directed to? It seems like a, you know an ex or something. Is it?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes. He was… he hit me. Often. He said he loved me then beat me up when the other students were around. I was so desperate for someone I stayed with him."

"Other students?"

"Yes. We were in uni together. You've met him, actually. Sebastian. Wilkes. The banker."

John shook his head. "Knew that guy was a bastard." They laughed a little at that. "Wait, he hit you?"

"Yes. That wasn't too bad; he was terribly un-coordinated. It was the things he said to me, even when we were, um, well… busy." Sherlock blushed. "And he never used… anything. No safety or lubrication." Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed. "It never hurt during; I was usually high. Later it was bad, especially since he wouldn't wait between go's. My… my stitches never stayed in."

John could feel his blood boiling, rushing through him. His anger making him see red. "Sherlock… how could you let yourself be so close to him after that?"

Sherlock yawned.

"Look, never mind," John said. "You can tell me later. Or not, you know, just, whichever. But for now, you need to sleep, doctor's orders."

In response, Sherlock yawned again and laid down where he was on his bed, which, in turn, trapped John.

"Um, Sherlock?"

"Shh."

John, worried, stayed with his friend. He really hoped it wasn't a danger night.

"John."

"Hm?"

"Stop thinking."


	12. Chapter 12

Operate

_Oh my gosh, I am so incredibly extremely sorry for the wait. I was busy with boy scout camp and before that, I had no internet for two weeks. . But here is a shiny new chapter for you! Yay! I will try to make my updates more frequent. _

The next day, when John woke up he was startled at first to see Sherlock in his bed. Until he remembered that it wasn't his bed, it was Sherlock's. Bit weird waking up in your best mates' bed, but hey, what the hell; why not? His anger renewed when he remembered what Sherlock had said about Sebastian. John wondered if there were any other songs about him.

"John."

John's eyes had slipped closed when he was thinking and now they snapped open. "Yeah? Are you okay?"

Sherlock nodded. "John, um, I was wondering if you wanted to see my songs. If—if someone else sees them, maybe I can throw them away and try to forget what he did." Sherlock looked—John would say shy if it were anyone other than Sherlock.

"Yeah sure. You don't have to sing them if you don't want. Just, you know…" John trailed off.

Sherlock nodded and rifled through the little box and pulled out a paper labeled 'Operate.'

"Is this about him, then?" John asked. Sherlock nodded, then cleared his throat. Apparently he was singing.

Sherlock took a deep breath in, then sang.

"_I know how you're operating  
Only come around when you know that I need it  
Cut out my heart and you leave me bleeding  
You are the only one who brings out the daemon_

"_Like pills you make me righteous  
Like I can rise above it all  
Like pills you leave me lifeless  
Shaking in a bathroom stall_

"_Why you wanna do this?  
Don't wanna see you in my phone_

"_Leave me alone_

"_I know how you're operating  
Only come around when you know that I need it  
Cut out my heart and you leave me bleeding  
You are the only one who brings out the daemon  
You bring it out  
You bring it out_

"_Like pills you grab a hold of me  
One hit just makes me want you more  
Until we're in a motel room  
Locked up behind closed doors_

"_Why you wanna do this?  
Don't wanna see you in my phone_

"_Leave me alone_

"_I know how you're operating  
Only come around when you know that I need it  
Cut out my heart and you leave me bleeding  
You are the only one who brings out the daemon  
You bring it out  
You bring it out_

"_You're doing it now  
You're doing it now  
You're doing it now_

"_It used to be  
You brought out the best in me  
Now it seems  
You bring beast in me_

"_I know how you're operating  
Only come around when you know that I need it  
Cut out my heart and you leave me bleeding  
You are the only one who brings out the daemon  
You bring it out  
You bring it out  
You bring it out  
You bring it out"_

"Wow, Sherlock that was just, wow."

Sherlock smiled smally and said, "Another one?"

"Um, sure," John agreed.

Sherlock looked through the box and pulled out one. "This one is one of my firsts and it's very cliché."

John looked at the title. 'I Hate Everything About You.'

Well, then.

But these were about Sebastian.

A thought occurred to John. "Hey, would it be easier for you to sing if you had a guitar? I have an acoustic upstairs in my room."

Sherlock's eyebrows raised in surprised, but he nodded.

When John came back with the guitar, Sherlock tuned it and began to play without preamble.

"_Every time we lie awake  
After every hit we take  
Every feeling that I get  
But I haven't missed you yet_

"_Every roommate kept awake  
By every silent scream we make  
All the feelings that I get  
But I still don't miss you yet_

"_Only when I stop to think about it_

"_I  
Hate  
Everything about you  
Why  
Do I  
Love you?  
I  
Hate  
Everything about you  
Why  
Do I  
Love you?_

"_Every time we lie awake  
After every hit we take  
Every feeling that I get  
But I haven't missed you yet_

"_Only when I stop to think about it_

"_I  
Hate  
Everything about you  
Why  
Do I  
Love you?  
I  
Hate  
Everything about you  
Why  
Do I  
Love you?_

"_Only when I stop to think about you  
I know  
Only when you start to think about me  
Do you_

"_I  
Hate  
Everything about you  
Why  
Do I  
Love you?  
You  
Hate  
Everything about me  
Why  
Do you  
Love me?_

"_I  
Hate  
You  
Hate  
I  
Hate  
You  
Love me_

"_I  
Hate  
Everything about you  
Why  
Do I  
Love you?"_

"That isn't cliché, Sherlock. If they're your feeling then it can't be." John sighed. "Want a cuppa? I'm having one but I can bring one back for you?"

"Thank you, John."

Raising an eyebrow at the odd politeness, John turned to go make tea.


	13. Chapter 13

_Operate _  
_Okay, so here we get back to Sherlock. Right now he is in uni, age 17, struggling with being so young and whatnots. I want to note a disclaimer that I forgot. These songs are NOT mine, they belong to Three Days Grace; I suggest you look up each song associated with each chapter. Also, Sherlock Holmes and his companions do not belong to me either. They are respectfully owned by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and Steven Moffat/Mark Gatiss. Thank you for letting me borrow them. Anyway, onwards!_

* * *

Sherlock sat in his dorm room that he shared with Sebastian. He stared across the room to the bed parallel to his own. It was a mess; dirty clothes that Sherlock was sure had been there since at least a week ago, along with some new filth atop the dark blue duvet; food crumbs, cigarette ash, dirty needles, and, _oh gross,_ a used condom.

_How does he sleep in that?_ Sherlock thought. While Sebastian's side was disgusting, Sherlock's side was meticulously clean. His books were neatly stacked from biggest on bottom and smallest on top, and pushed into the corner of his desk. His desk was always clean and cleared, except when he was doing work of an experiment. All off his supplies were carefully locked up in a box under his bed. Seb could get violent when high or drunk; best to keep him away from potential weapons. Sherlock's sheets were tucked into the sides of his bed, his pillow set neatly on his white quilt. Sherlock had all the standard issue uni supplies. His side was so un-personalised; it could likely be used as a picture for the school brochure.

Needless to say, he couldn't stand being in such close quarters to Sebastian. He'd requested a transfer, but was denied. What was worse was Sebastian found out.

Seb had walked into the room, rage clear in his eyes and had gone calmly to Sherlock, where he was in the middle of an experiment, and swept Sherlock's experiment off his desk, and while Sherlock was standing up and turning to ask what the hell he was doing, Sebastian slammed his fist right into Sherlock's jaw.

"You little bitch; you thought you could leave me? Who else is going to give you what you need? No-one, because you don't have any friends anyway." It was at that point when he stopped talking and started kicking. He kicked Sherlock's ribs and Sherlock had thought it was broken. All the while, Sebastian was saying all sorts of terrible things; that Sherlock was worthless, ugly, nobody loved him. Sherlock had not cried. He simply accepted those facts. The next kick to his face had almost made him black out, and the next one did.

When he woke up, he had found himself alone on the floor, where Seb had left him. Sherlock prodded his ribs and was relieved to find that they were not broken, merely bruised.

_Small mercies,_ he thought bitterly.

His head was pounding and he needed a hit. Life was too stressful for him to try and think about. He got up slowly, looked at his bed where a small baggie of white power lay on his pillow.

Sherlock stood up carefully, and reached under his bed for his tools; along with his science tools were three syringes. Two were disposable, wrapped in a sanitary plastic case, and the other was glass. He picked out a disposable one, and went about making his 7% solution.

An hour later, Sherlock was lying on his bed looking at the ceiling, cataloging each and every crack and imperfection, and he was finally, gloriously high.

This was why he stayed with Seb. This feeling was simply indescribable. Sherlock got up and grabbed some sheets of paper and a pen. Journaling; that was what normal people did, right? He began to write down everything he thought of Seb. The list was disjointed, with no apparent topic, but it focused on everything he hated about Seb. He looked at his list.

He grabbed another sheet of paper and started writing words in a more orginised manner.

_I hate everything about you  
Why do I __stay?__ Love you?_

Sherlock thought back to when Seb said that he loved him. Lying awake and high, feeling great. But when Sherlock thought about it, he realised that Seb never really loved him. At least not his mind. Sure, Seb liked his body well enough, but he didn't really even _know_ Sherlock.

_Every time we lie awake  
After every hit we take  
Every __night spent awake __Roommate kept awake by __the screams we make-__every silent scream we make  
↨(switch)__All the emotions__ Every feeling that I get  
But I still don't miss you yet _

Sherlock rubbed the heels of his hands into eyes. The high was wearing off; how long had it been? He looked at his watch and was surprised to find more than an hour had passed. He hadn't slept in… well it had been a long time. Sherlock laid back in his bed, closing his eyes for a moment, planning to wake up in just a few minutes, but within minutes, he was asleep.


	14. Chapter 14

_Oh my goodness, sorry for the wait. I have been a little stuck lately. . sorry!_

* * *

Sherlock's dream started back at his house. Everything was there; the paintings and decorations, as well as the polished white floors, were exactly the same as when he left for school.

His father walked in; he was the same too. Tall, menacing, brutal. He grabbed Sherlock swiftly by the collar and slammed him against the wall. He was yelling, but Sherlock heard nothing. Silence, louder than the screaming; more brutal, terrifying, and deafening.

Then suddenly, he was alone. Good, its better alone; _alone is what I have; alone protects me._ But then there was pain; excruciating pain, coming from punches, kicks, beatings. It hurt. _Make it stop._

_Make it stop. Make it STOP!_

And it did. The pain ceased, though he was still getting beaten. The words, _freak, monster, weirdo, creep_, still were hurled at him, aiming to hurt.

But they didn't. There was no sting, no sadness. Nothing. He couldn't feel anymore. _I don't want to feel, I want to die. I want to live, I want to be left alone._

_I just won't care. Caring is not an advantage. _

_Finally, bliss._

Sherlock woke up groggily to the sound of Sebastian yelling at him.

"Oi, freak, wake up you stupid cunt! I need you to give me my money!"

Sherlock peeled his eyes open and sat up slowly, the pain from yesterday gone.

Sherlock glared up at Sebastian, who was at the edge of the bed, fuming. "Fuck off, Seb."

Sebastian's mouth dropped in shock. "Did you just tell me to fuck off?"

Sherlock sighed, "Yes, and while I realise you're an idiot, I didn't know that you were audibly impaired."

Sherlock didn't realise he'd been punched until he saw Sebastian's hand moving away from his face. Sherlock raised an eyebrow; that was odd. He'd been punched in the face before, and it hurt quite a lot. There was a low sort of throbbing in his cheek and lip, but it didn't hurt. He raised his own hand up to his face and prodded it. A tiny bit of pain, and bit more blood.

"Hm," he said quietly. He looked up to see Sebastian, still seething. "What money do I owe you?"

"You owe me 300 pounds. Plus interest," he replied.

Sherlock got his wallet and chucked 500 pounds at Sebastian. "There, now will you fuck off?"

As Sherlock walked out of his science classroom, everyone else staying behind to mourn the class hamster, he silently wondered if there was something wrong with him. It was just a stupid animal, it was going to die anyway, why should he care?

He heard the names, day after day; freak, loser, insensitive, monster, devil, lifeless.

He didn't care.


End file.
